To Die Is To Yield
by rhythm junkie
Summary: Batiatus wishes Agron fulfil the request of a neighbour. Agron wishes payment in kind.  Slash.  AU with possible OOC.


**Being a UK'er, I haven't actually seen the full episodes, only the Nagron stuff people have kindly uploaded to tumblr. This may be OOC or the voice may not be quite right, and I apologise for that. Usually I wait til I've watched something before ficcing it but between someone posting on tumblr that they'd dreamt Nasir was gifted to Batiatus whilst Agron was his gladiator, and this **http: /27. media. / tumblr_lygaj5UQS41r2fdgno1_** (which is unbelievably NSFW) the idea for this just mithered at me until I wrote it. **

**Also, title from a poem that can be found here **http: /www .booksie. com/all/all/valenwolf/ gladiator

**I have no Spartacus beta as yet, all mistakes are mine.**

**I own nothing.**

**UPDATE: Because FFn is shit, the links won't work. If you go find me on Livejournal - name = im_not_a_lizard - this fic is posted there and you'll be able to access the links. Trust me, you need that gif in your life.  
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><p>Agron glanced with distaste at the Roman filth, splayed and panting on the bed, blood and semen leaking down his thigh in a pink rush. He would never understand why a man would debase himself in such a way.<p>

When Batiatus had come to him, with threats and promise of reward, and told him what his neighbour wanted, Agron had baulked. Not that he had a choice, he was a slave after all, but Batiatus knew his gladiator well enough to know that this would not be received well, and Agron was worth more to him alive than dead.

"Have sense," he had hissed into Agron's shoulder as they stood on the balcony watching the Roman in question walk the busy courtyard, "he is not without appeal. Also, I hear Priapus did not favour him," the last with a pointed look at Agron's subligaria.

Agron grimaced, eyeing the Roman again. His eye caught at a flash of dark skin, just to the right of the filth's shoulder. The boy Agron had been glimpsing for the past few months stood, head bowed deferentially, just behind his master's shoulder but Agron could read a line of temerity in the way he held himself. It intrigued the gladiator. His eyes must have lingered too long, as Batiatus' voice when he next spoke held a lewd overtone.

"His body slave," he said, nodding toward the boy from whom Agron could not tear his eyes, "It would be difficult perhaps, if his dominus had not such interest in your arse."

As it was, Batiatus had no need of worry. The Roman shit had not wished Agron's arse but his cock, driven deep within and used to rut like the beast he viewed Agron as. He was obliged ten-fold.

Each time Agron won on the sands, the Roman fuck was impaled on his cock not two moons past. Only thoughts of the dark-skinned boy, oiled and waiting, encouraged Agron's flesh to engorge at those meetings.

He grabbed the rag laid out by the rose-scented water bowl, ignoring the moans from the well-used Roman, and wiped his cock and balls thoroughly. This may be how he must debase himself to get what he wished, but he had no intention of carrying anything of that dirty fuck over to his true reward.

Agron made the short walk, naked and half-aching from thought alone, to the room where his prize awaited. When he stepped through the archway, the boy jumped and whirled, eyes finding the cock that hung heavy with blood between Agron's thighs before shooting away, skittish as always.

"Little man," Agron greeted, voice resonant with desire that flared only more deeply as the boy under his eye tensed and turned half away. Agron grinned, enjoying the roll of muscles under that sun-dark flesh, and reached out to run fingers across blush-warmed skin.

The first time they had brought the boy to lay, Agron had goaded him until he had attacked with an arousing hiss, and both had wrestling for dominance on the floor. On Agron's part, it was mostly for show. The boy had fire but he had a gladiator's training and a superior build.

"Well, aren't you a wild little dog," he'd murmured into the boy's ear, amused and aroused at the defiance in the boy's expression. In response, the boy had bitten him.

Agron had laughed at the pain, as he had learned to, and at the surprise, which was new. He wrenched his arm from the grip of those white teeth, now stained with blood, and flipped the boy over until he was on his knees. He hadn't missed the flush on the boy's dark skin, nor the hardened flesh between his legs.

"Wild and full of fire," Agron had whispered, biting the boy's dark shoulder until his teeth marks were visible on skin, "You show promise yet."

On this night the boy moved out from under Agron's hands, mouth twisted down, and Agron grinned harder, recognising the challenge for what it was. Agron was many things but he was assured enough in his own appeal that he had no need of bedding by force. He would not have tolerated this arrangement had the boy not watched him from those dark eyes when paths crossed.

He moved quickly, needing welcome skin against his own, and caught the boy around the middle, laughing into his shoulder blades as he struggled in firm grip. Agron lifted him off his feet and tightened his arms until they were pressed length for length, and he could exhale into crepuscular nape. The boy shuddered in his arms, and he took moment to enjoy the sensation before returning feet to floor.

The boy struggled anew, but Agron was not dissuaded so easily. Hard flesh brushing his wrist as they tussled assured his advances were not unwelcome, and spurred him further.

"Will you give up your name?" Agron grunted, catching flailing limbs and pushing them down, opening the boy beneath him. He knew the name the Roman fuck used for the boy, but he also knew one so dark had not been born to such a name. Agron wished the boy to offer a true part of himself.

That the boy remained silent was not unexpected. Both he and the gladiator had been forbidden conversation by their dominus', and the boy was obedient...at face value at least. Agron tried not to feel aggrieved, reminding himself that the boy's place by his dominus' side was hard won and enviously coveted. Submission to commands kept the boy alive. The mere thought of harm touching that skin had Agron diving between buttocks with a vigorous tongue.

He enjoyed starting their time this way, so opposite to his time with the Roman filth. The boy held out as long as will allowed, but it was short work to have him writhing against Agron's mouth, moaning and huffing into silken cushions. Nothing warmed Agron's blood more than taking the dark-skinned boy apart, flushing his skin and wetting his arse with tongue and with other appendages.

On other nights he would take his time with the boy but things were uncertain and events loomed that hurried Agron's desire. The boy's breath left him, lost to surprise, when the gladiator's fingers found their way between buttocks swiftly, oiled and careful in their task.

The boy squirmed beneath the larger man's bulk and his ardour, lips loose around quiet whimpers as Agron determinedly worked him open for cock. Little time passed before the dark-skinned boy was mounted by the amorous gladiator.

Agron knew their position would satisfy a dominus, should either choose to observe; larger man atop the smaller, domineering and controlling. That was not the actuality, though only Agron and, he hoped, the boy beneath him knew this. Truth, Agron looked forward to the day his dark skinned boy joined with him from the inside, anticipated warm mouth on neck and short thrust against buttocks.

Not in this setting. Here Agron must prove his strength, and not only to the dominus. Agron wanted his panting, lustful boy to know that he would be well taken care of, that Agron could protect and provide. That was the true nature of their couplings.

Spartacus talked in low whisper of rebellion, of rising up again the Roman shits and of that most sacred thing, of freedom. Agron would not leave without the boy. He worried on the boy's reaction, his little man with the defiant streak. Would he agree to come? Or would Agron be called to take him by force? His mind shied from the idea, unwilling to offer freedom and have it denied, only to insist upon it.

The thought that the boy may want to stay (and the rumbling press in his chest that suggested Agron might acquiesce to remain with him if that proved the case) had Agron crowding closer to the warm flesh beneath him, gathering in limbs to flatten them together on every inch. He hoped, in the hours they were not together, the boy would remember the touch of Agron's flesh on his own, and how it felt to be enclosed so thoroughly. He hoped the memory would offer the boy a place of safety to retreat to when questing Roman hands became too much.

The boy's face was pressed to the furs, eyes closed and brow furrowed as if in concentration. Agron crowded closer still, changing thrusts to slow hip rolls that kept their skin in contact, and lowered his mouth to the high colour on presented cheek. He mouthed the skin there, slow and deliberate, dragging lips and tongue across flesh, sucking earlobe until the boy whined low in his throat.

Agron slowed his hip rolls further, kept mouth to cheek contact, and _willed _the boy recognise his aim. Outside of this world, he knew the boy would make a formidable partner but here, inside these walls, Agron needed the boy to know that he could be relied upon as much in battle as in pleasure.

"Your name, little man," he ground out, voice deep and quiet in the sounds of their love-making. The boy gasped and shuddered, indicating his release had been found, and Agron allowed himself a grin no little born of smugness. He pushed further inside his dark-skinned lover, and again looked to the day their positions would be reversed. It was enough and he spent himself, deep and satisfying, kissing what he could reach of the boy's face, neck and shoulders.

He remained lounging in the furs as the boy dressed with hands that shook under Agron's vulturous gaze. Already the gladiator felt the sting of loss but he pushed it back, knowing his next win in the arena would have the boy in his arms once more.

The boy paused at the door, biting the corner of his lip, before dark eyes flicked to blue and he whispered, "Nasir," and was gone.

Agron threw his head back and laughed with delight.

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><p><strong>Thank you for reading, feel free to leave me your thoughts.<strong>


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